


Collide

by IdleLeaves



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves
Summary: your hand / touching mine. / this is how / galaxies / collide.The missing night at Crowley's, version 7928634.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	Collide

There's a headache pulsing at Crowley's temples by the time he boards the bus with Aziraphale. It's not surprising, considering the tremendous amount of energy he'd expended keeping the Bentley together, let alone that little time stunt he'd pulled. Adding alcohol to exhaustion isn't perhaps the best decision, but Crowley still has the half-full bottle in his hand as he sits.

Aziraphale places himself beside Crowley instead of before or behind. He's stiff and straight, at first, but as the bus lurches forward then moves into the night he settles in, clasping his hands loosely in his lap; Crowley slouches in his seat and closes his eyes.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, a minute or an hour later; Crowley glances at him over the top of his sunglasses. "You don't look well," he says, and touches the backs of his fingers to Crowley's forehead, then his cheek, as if he expects him to, impossibly, be running a fever.

"I'm all right," he answers. His voice is rougher than he intends, but Aziraphale doesn't push; Crowley doubts, though, that he believes him. Aziraphale's hand moves to hover at the base of Crowley's neck, hesitation rolling off him in waves. After a moment, he sighs and wraps his arm around Crowley's shoulders. Crowley leans into it; he's always been good at accepting as much as Aziraphale is able to give.

Crowley's not sure when he falls asleep, but soon enough the bus is coming to a shuddering stop and he raises his head abruptly from Aziraphale's shoulder. His headache is worse than before, pain radiating down his jaw now, as well, and it takes more effort than usual to rise from his seat and follow Aziraphale out into the cool night air. He takes his keys out of his inside jacket pocket - miracles are out of the question right now - and promptly drops them. Aziraphale bends to retrieve them without being asked, and lets them both inside and into the lift.

Crowley rubs the bridge of his nose as he drops down onto the sofa beside Aziraphale, and a small, embarrassingly pained sound slips out unintended. He opens his eyes to find Aziraphale with a hand half-stretched toward him.

"May I?" he asks. Crowley nods, and Aziraphale's hands come to rest lightly on either side of his head, thumbs brushing over his temples. The pain spikes, sudden and sharp - angelic healing will do that to a demon - then fades to nothing.

Crowley sighs as his head clears. "Thank you," he says, and takes a few breaths before picking up the bottle of wine to hand it to Aziraphale. For some time after they sit in silence, sharing the wine; the bottle never seems to empty, and Crowley knows he has Aziraphale to thank for that.

"Perhaps you should rest for a while," says Aziraphale at Crowley's third or fourth aborted yawn. Crowley can't find a good reason to argue, so all he does is nod and hand the wine back to Aziraphale. He stands, and sways just a moment before finding his balance.

Aziraphale miracles a book into his hand. "Sleep well, my dear," he says, and settles in to read as Crowley heads for his bedroom.

Leaving his clothes in an untidy pile on a chair, Crowley changes into pajamas, flicks off the lamp, and rolls under the blankets on his bed. He exhales a deep, soft sigh, curling onto his side. He slips into a light sleep, and does not dream.

"Crowley?"

Crowley wakes with a start, and blinks; he's not sure what time it is, but it's absolutely still the middle of the night. Aziraphale is silhouetted in his doorway against the dim light from the hall. He still has a book in his hand, but his jacket and waistcoat are gone, and he's loosened his bowtie. Crowley doesn't think he's seen him so dressed down in centuries.

"Mmph," is the only sound Crowley manages to make.

"I'm sorry," says Aziraphale. "I just thought, that perhaps... well. I suppose today's taken a lot out of me. I'm rather tired."

It takes Crowley a moment to decide if Aziraphale is asking, in a roundabout way, what he thinks he's asking. Aziraphale shifts in the doorway, looking like he might retreat; before that can happen Crowley slides over in bed and pulls back the blankets beside him. That utterly, well, _angelic_ grin lights Aziraphale's face, and he snaps his fingers to change into proper pajamas.

He lies facing Crowley, watching him in the near-darkness. Crowley listens to him breathe, soft and shallow, and wonders what else is on his mind.

"Angel," he says.

There's something in Aziraphale's eyes Crowley doesn't recognise at all, hasn't ever seen there - not that he remembers, at least. Something warm, and soft, and scared. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, like he's steadying himself. "Crowley," he says, finally, voice just above a whisper. "Are you... I mean, do you... do you still?"

Crowley's heart, then, is suddenly in his throat, and all that's on the tip of his tongue is the truth. "Yes," he says, and when Aziraphale reaches out his hand, he grasps it and holds on tight. He raises their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Aziraphale's knuckles.

" _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale says, like he could cry if he let himself. The fingertips of his other hand trace the line of Crowley's jaw, his cheek, his lips, his collarbone; his touches are feather-light and near-reverent.

When Aziraphale kisses him, the soft, insistent press of his lips makes Crowley's head spin, but not, this time, with pain; he wraps his arms around Aziraphale as they kiss again, and again, and again. Eventually he finds himself on his back, re-learning how to breathe, with Aziraphale's head on his chest, arm thrown over Crowley's waist.

Aziraphale shifts, tilts his head up to look at Crowley. "Do you think," he starts, "we should talk abou--"

"No," says Crowley. "Not tonight." He tightens his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. "Tonight, let's just..." He trails off; it's not a time for words.

"All right," says Aziraphale, and Crowley closes his eyes to wait for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. Everyone's written a version of this missing scene, but it's just such good fic fodder.
> 
> Summary quote by Sanober Khan.


End file.
